


Interlude II

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [22]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, GFY, HelpTooManyTags, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon should have recognized the distraction for what it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude II

**Author's Note:**

> Holy. Flying. MONKEYS. 
> 
> I didn't want to rush this, but at this point, I want to publish *something.* I am still insanely busy, but the end of the semester is in sight...and at least this is relatively complete. Yay, chapter! *thump* (Also, I'd really like it if my local restaurants would stop feeding me food I'm allergic to.)
> 
> Note the second: Betabetabeta - MerryAmelie and C. (Lee is moving house like a crazy person and is thus exempt.) Also, only the smut got a beta, so if I screwed up afterwards, just tell me and I'll fix it.

 

“In four days’ time, you will be seven months old,” Shmi Skywalker told her infant daughter. “What do you think of that?”

Kania, in typical baby fashion, smiled and blew a raspberry at her mother.

“Yes, you’re right,” Shmi admitted, scooping the baby up in her arms and heading for the kitchen. “Parents are the only ones who care about monthly milestones. Though I, for one, fervently await the day that you resort to words instead of spitting.”

The baby giggled in her arms, squirming and trying her best to climb over Shmi’s shoulder. Anakin, as an infant, had been content to be carried, and only tried to escape when placed upon the ground. Kania, by contrast, spent all of her waking hours trying to wiggle out of arms, escape her playpen, or crawl all the way across the fields…

“Hey, there are my girls!” Cliegg called in greeting, coming in through the home’s rear door. There were beads of sweat standing out on his face, and his hands were almost black with earth. Shmi gave him a look of displeasure; her husband wisely retreated to the ’fresher to clean up for lunch.

Cliegg returned a great deal cleaner, neatly plucking Kania from Shmi’s grasp. “How’s my baby?” Cliegg asked his daughter, giving her a gentle toss. Kania shrieked in fearless delight.

Shmi watched them with an indulgent smile as she prepared their afternoon meal. Kania didn’t levitate objects like her brother had at the same age, but then, she’d had four Jedi around in her first months. Kania was levitated so often that a daily tossing session with her father was almost a requirement. Qui-Gon had adored her, an indulgent babysitter, and Rillian was a patient caretaker who rumbled Wookiee lullabies. It was Obi-Wan and Anakin whom Shmi had sometimes caught staring at the sleeping infant, gazing at Kania as if she was the most precious thing in the universe.

Shmi was not a stupid woman. She knew that there had been no Kania Skywalker in their other-when.

She was not all that startled when the family terminal began beeping for attention. “That will be one of them now,” she murmured.

“Thinking of our other boys, were you?” Cliegg asked, smiling. He was used to her moments of intuition.

Shmi nodded. “I think it’s Obi-Wan. You answer it; I need to finish this.”

“All right, up we go,” Cliegg said to Kania, who clung to her father’s shirt as he rose to answer the terminal comm. “No ident attached to the signal,” Cliegg informed her, before he toggled the receiver. “Lars residence. Grubby farmer and charming little girl speaking.”

“Hello, grubby farmer and charming girl.”

“Well, hello, Obi-Wan,” Cliegg greeted him, turning his head to smile at Shmi.

 _I told you_ , Shmi mouthed back, grinning.

Kania burbled baby-speak at the comm. “That means hi, I think,” Cliegg said.

“Hello, dear sister,” Obi-Wan replied. Cliegg mussed Kania’s dark red hair when she chuckled. “I am glad I caught you at home. I have a message from Fintan Soreel.”

“Fintan Soreel, huh?” Cliegg repeated, scratching at the fresh bristle on his chin. Kania cooed and grabbed at her father’s face. “I haven’t talked to him in a good fifteen years now. What does he have to say?”

“I quote: You awful bastard. Why did you not tell me that you had procreated?”

Cliegg started laughing, and Kania joined in, if only because she liked to laugh. Shmi, meanwhile, was going to have a stern talk with all of her children about swearing in front of her infant daughter.

“You must have met Fintan over a Sabacc deck,” Cliegg said.

“Might have done,” Obi-Wan admitted, sounding far too nonchalant. “I might also have broken his winning streak.”

“That’s my boy,” Cliegg said warmly. “How much did you take him for?”

“I am renting a suite in Tyrena with his generous contribution,” Obi-Wan replied. “Fintan sends his regards, and says that we both owe him a game so he can attempt to recapture what we have so unjustly taken from him.”

“He always was a sore loser.” Cliegg shifted Kania to his other hip when she made a bid for freedom. “So, what’s wrong?”

Shmi felt her heart swell with love and approval. She’d been aware from the beginning of the call, but it was always reassuring when Cliegg noticed their children’s idiosyncrasies as well.

Obi-Wan was not one to divulge easily, however. “What gives you the impression that something is wrong?”

Cliegg snorted. “Obi-Wan, you’re my son. _I know._ Also, you sound just like your mother used to when she broke something on the Ator farm and didn’t want to admit just how irretrievably fucked it was.”

That was another sign of how much things had changed from their first meeting. Cliegg spoke of his lost Aika more easily now. During their first years together, he didn’t want to discuss his first wife at all, even to his sons’ benefit.

“Will you accept that the wrong is not dire, and that no one is dying?” Obi-Wan asked.

“For now,” Cliegg allowed. “Any other details you feel like you can spare?”

There was a pause. “Politics. Lots and lots of politics.”

Cliegg made a face. “Then I’ve changed my mind; I fucking well do not want to know.”

“Fu!” Kania blurted.

Cliegg turned bright red. “Oh, _no_.”

“I thought I was going to be responsible for that one,” Obi-Wan said, sounding amused. “Was that my sister’s first word?”

“Yes!” Shmi walked over and removed her daughter from Cliegg’s arms. “You are in so much trouble,” she told her husband, who was still red with embarrassment.

“Fu!” Kania chirped again.

“Your fault!” Shmi tossed back over her shoulder, and then smiled where Cliegg could not see it. She had wanted words, after all.

 

Republic Date 5201: 3/11th

Tyrena, Corellia

 

Qui-Gon stepped off the transport, getting to a safe distance before waving off the Corps pilot who’d been kind enough to grant him the ride. Jayrx grinned and waved back; the ship lifted off a moment later, clearing the landing pad so that the next ship in line could touch down.

He navigated the docking bays without much difficulty, weaving his way through the drifts of incoming and outgoing passengers, and found an exit that let him out onto the sunlit avenue that bordered the river.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath of the city’s air and let it out, pleased when there was only a faint whiff of unpleasantness. The last time he had been in Tyrena, he and Dooku had been overseeing the negotiation that would force certain industrial companies to comply with Corellia’s local and system-wide environmental policies. Then, the very earth beneath his feet had felt unhealthy, and Qui-Gon had been glad to leave when their work was done.

The cleanup had gone well, and Tyrena’s tourism had skyrocketed. By the time he reached the next street, Qui-Gon was fighting thick crowds, visitors to Tyrena from all over the Republic. The noise was tremendous, and he found himself tightening his shields in response. Pickpockets and con artists roamed the streets, alert for unwary tourists. Qui-Gon felt eyes watching his progress from time to time, but except for a necessary glare to warn a pair of young hands away from his credit pouch, he was left alone.

Qui-Gon considered taking a transport, but ultimately decided against it. The weather was pleasant, and the crowds thinned once he got out of the River Point District. By the time he’d made it to the Skids, the pedestrian traffic was much reduced. This district was dilapidated and rough, hosting the poorer, permanent residents of Tyrena.

The address given to him led to a hotel that had definitely seen better days. It had once been luxurious, a match for the ostentatious buildings and casinos of the other districts, but now half of its lights flickered, and the exterior paint had faded to dull gray.

Inside the hotel, things appeared to be in better condition. The lobby of the hotel was stocked with worn furniture, but it was clean and well-maintained. Cut flowers perfumed the air; if there was mildew or mold in the building, it was being concealed well.

“Welcome to the _Fading Flower_ ,” the desk clerk on duty greeted him. He was a human who looked to be in his mid-twenties, with an air of casual professionalism that Qui-Gon approved of. “I’m Chadrin Greene. From the description I was given, I would guess that you are Master Jinn.”

“That would be correct,” Qui-Gon said. “The name of your establishment seems fitting, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“Not at all. My uncle changed the name of the hotel when he bought it a few years ago.” Greene smiled. “Seemed appropriate.”

Greene slid a plastine card through a scanner, scowling and repeating the motion until the device lit up green. “Some days, however, it’s more appropriate than others. This is yours,” he said, and handed the card to Qui-Gon. “You’ll want the top floor. Go into the left-most turbolift and slide your card. The car will take you up automatically. Once you step off the lift, there’s only the one set of double doors—that’s your room. I don’t know if your host is in residence, but that card will get you into the suite. It will activate the room safe, too, if you need to store anything valuable.” Greene paused. “Try not to lose the keycard, if you can help it. Most everyone else has upgraded to a different security system, and the cards are getting hard to replace.”

Qui-Gon nodded as he accepted the card. “I will do my best, Sir Greene.”

Green waved one hand in refusal of the title. “It’s just Greene, or Chadrin, if you must. ‘Sir’ is for waterfront types. I hope you enjoy your stay, Master Jinn.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon replied, and went to find the lift in question.

The lift took him to the top floor, which held a short hall before the set of double doors, just as Chadrin had described. Qui-Gon slid the card through the worn security pad, gratified when the lock clicked on the first try. He tucked the card back into his belt and pulled the doors open. The suite was dark, and he sensed nothing within. It was possible he and Obi-Wan had missed each other, if only by a few minutes.

When Qui-Gon stepped inside, shutting the doors behind him, he was met by the immediate hush of intense shielding. Rare quiet descended, and Qui-Gon sighed as some of the tension left his shoulders. His shields were excellent, but his talents meant that he could always feel echoes, projections from the teeming masses of people surrounding him. The bustling tourist crowd had drained him more than he’d suspected it would.

He dropped his pack. The heavy weight of it hit the floor just as a flare of blue-green from the center of the room drew his eye.

Qui-Gon should have recognized the distraction for what it was—it was too well-timed. Instead, he barely had his arms raised when he was tackled from the side, himself and his aggressor rolling down three carpeted steps into the suite’s central receiving room.

Qui-Gon flipped himself over, pinning a warm body beneath his, and caught sight of Venge’s glowing yellow eyes, a flash of white from teeth bared in a wide, playful grin. “Obi-Wan, what—”

Venge laughed, a sound that raised the hairs on Qui-Gon’s neck and arms, and then rolled them both over so that Venge was on top. “It was far too easy for me to get the drop on you, Master Jinn. You should be paying more attention.”

Qui-Gon was a bit distracted by the fact that Venge was both naked and straddling Qui-Gon’s groin. “You were hiding yourself within an already-shielded room. I am considering myself fortunate that it was you.”

“You are indeed fortunate,” Venge agreed, busy with his hands as he divested Qui-Gon of his belt. “Imagine what nefarious things someone else might be getting up to, with you in such a precarious position.”

“I have a very good imagination,” Qui-Gon said, wincing when his sash was jerked, not gently, from his waist.

“Do you?” Venge sounded pleased. He grasped the bottom of Qui-Gon’s tunics and pulled; Qui-Gon obligingly lifted his back from the floor enough for the cloth to slide up and over his head. Venge yanked the bunched up cloth down past Qui-Gon’s elbows and then did something that tightened the mess around his wrists.

“Hey!” Qui-Gon said in startled protest, the world muffled when Venge neatly flipped him over onto his bare stomach. His arms were stuck up over his head, bound by his tunics. At least the carpet was soft and forgiving against his skin. “Obi-Wan, what—”

Venge gripped Qui-Gon’s shoulder and bent over him, his breath warm against Qui-Gon’s ear. “Hold still,” Venge whispered, his voice full of such dark promise that Qui-Gon gasped and had to restrain a shiver.

Qui-Gon held still, his shoulders tightening in unconscious response. The tie was removed from his hair, and then his hair was slowly rebraided and bound into a single tail that would keep it from getting caught or tangled.

Venge sat down on Qui-Gon’s rear and lifted Qui-Gon’s right leg, divesting Qui-Gon of boot and sock; the same was done to his left leg. “Oh, what a lovely blade,” Venge whispered, finding the boot knife Qui-Gon had tucked into place before leaving Coruscant.

Obi-Wan appreciated a good knife, but Venge was fascinated with blades in a way that defied explanation—or if there was a reason, Venge wasn’t telling anyone. “You already have plenty of knives,” Qui-Gon said primly. “That one is mine.”

“Spoilsport,” Venge murmured. His weight disappeared, but then Venge’s hands were back at Qui-Gon’s waist, unbuttoning and removing Qui-Gon’s trousers in a slow, sensual glide. “And you tell me that my lack of underwear is naughty,” Venge said, exploring the curve of Qui-Gon’s ass with too-warm fingers.

“Planning ahead,” Qui-Gon said. Granted, this was not quite what he’d expected, but…

He shivered as Venge’s tongue followed the line of Qui-Gon’s spine from waist to neck. His cock, half-hard from the interesting greeting, was trying to become fully erect while fighting the blasted carpeting.

“I can fix that,” Venge said in a low chuckle. “Lift up.”

Qui-Gon sighed in relief as a sturdy pillow was tucked under his stomach. “Better. Less chance of carpet burns in unfortunate places.”

“That would be disastrous,” Venge said. “Gods, but you smell divine.” He sat across Qui-Gon’s thighs just before he gripped Qui-Gon’s cock with an oil-slick hand.

Qui-Gon groaned as he was stroked several times from base to tip. Venge’s fingers were almost too tight, but _damn_ did it feel good. Then he felt something about the size of a single finger enter him in a smooth, cool glide of oil, and his breath caught in his throat. “What is that?”

“I went shopping,” Venge said. “It looked like fun.”

“Fun for who?” Qui-Gon asked, and then bit his lip as the toy in his ass doubled in size. “Holy gods, Obi-Wan,” he hissed, clenching his hands into fists.

“Oh, fun for me, definitely.” Venge was smiling. He had to be, to sound that blasted smug while he idly stroked Qui-Gon’s cock. “It does not move on its own, alas. Would you like me to do something about that?”

“That is a stupid question,” Qui-Gon retorted, and then bit the inside of his cheek when the toy’s girth expanded for a third time—slower, this time, so it was less of a shock. Qui-Gon definitely approved of the find.

“Well?”

Qui-Gon turned his head until he could almost see Venge’s shadowy form in the dark room. “Yes, dammit!” Venge didn’t answer him, but the toy moved, a slow, torturous pace that had Qui-Gon trying to push back against it.

“No.” Both toy and hand ceased to move. “I told you to hold still.”

Qui-Gon growled in frustration. “Are you sure you’re not evil?”

“Perhaps a little bit,” Venge said with an audible purr. He put his hands on Qui-Gon’s back and started drawing teasing circles with his fingernails, just sharp enough to leave trails of light fire. “It’s a simple command. All you have to do for me to continue is to hold still.”

He was a Jedi Master and he could fucking well hold still for hours, if need be. Qui-Gon gritted his teeth and held himself all but motionless but for his need to breathe.

“Better,” Venge said, and his hand re-wrapped Qui-Gon’s cock, finger by finger. The toy penetrated him deep, sparking his prostate. Qui-Gon gasped, his skin breaking out in a tingling sweat that mingled with the fresh scratches on his back. Venge worked his cock, hand and toy moving in matching rhythm until Qui-Gon was trembling from the effort of keeping still.

Qui-Gon pressed his burning face against the carpeting, feeling sweat soak into the soft fabric. “Obi-Wan, please,” he gasped.

“Please, what?” Venge asked in a rough voice. “You have to ask.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, his cock jumping in Venge’s hand from the mental images that the familiar words produced. Turnabout was indeed fair play. “Please, Ben,” he whispered. “I want you to fuck me.”

He could hear Venge swallow, an almost dry-sounding click. “The toy, or me?”

“You,” Qui-Gon said, swallowing down his own bit of anticipation so he could say the words. “The toy is…very nice, but I’ve missed you.”

“Hold still,” Venge reminded him in a hoarse voice. The toy was removed with slow, careful precision that still left Qui-Gon gasping.

“Please,” he said again, a quiet request that elicited a sharp inhalation from Venge.

Venge’s warm hands settled on Qui-Gon’s hips, and he felt the blunt hardness of his mate’s erection just before Venge plunged into him, setting up a swift, almost brutal rhythm. Qui-Gon’s fingers scrabbled against the carpet for purchase; it was taking all of his willpower to not push back, to not disobey that particular command, because he didn’t want Venge to stop—

Venge’s hand found his cock again, pulling at Qui-Gon in rough strokes. “Oh, gods, Ben,” Qui-Gon groaned out. He was so close it hurt, but it was Venge’s desperate whisper of Qui-Gon’s name that finally pushed him over the edge. He cried out and thrust against Venge’s hand, coming so hard that sparks danced across his vision.

Venge grasped his hips so tight Qui-Gon knew it was going to leave bruises, thrusting only a few more times before he was done. His release was not vocal, but silent. It was enough to disrupt Venge’s ability to hide, and Qui-Gon felt a trace of relief when he could finally sense his mate’s presence.

Venge collapsed against Qui-Gon’s back, his skin hot and slick with sweat. Qui-Gon wrestled with the bunched-up fabric until he freed his wrists from their makeshift confines. He reached back and up until Venge caught his hand and held it, threading their fingers together. It was awkward, but still comforting.

Qui-Gon felt a slow, lazy smile spread across his face as his heartbeat gradually slowed back down to normal. “Hello,” he said, as his mate’s spent cock slipped from his body.

“Hello,” Venge replied, slurring the words against Qui-Gon’s skin. “Sorry, I think I skipped that step.”

“Given what replaced it, I have no complaints,” Qui-Gon said, chuckling against the carpet.

Venge sat up. “Roll over,” he requested. Qui-Gon did slow, slowly, feeling the divinely deep ache that came from being well-fucked. Venge laid back down on Qui-Gon’s chest, his head tucked under Qui-Gon’s chin.

“Bad day?” Qui-Gon asked. He wrapped his arms around his mate and felt muscles quivering underneath his hands.

“Better now,” Venge whispered.

Qui-Gon awoke from a light doze at least a half-hour later, stretching in place before he realized that he was missing Venge’s too-warm, heavy weight. Qui-Gon sat up to look around.

There was a hint of sunlight painting the borders of the windows on the opposite wall, coming in around drawn shades. The flare of blue-green that had distracted him earlier turned out to be from a group of pillar candles clustered on a low table in the center of the room, allowing Qui-Gon to see the outlines of the room’s furniture. There was another set of carpeted stairs that led up, probably to the suite’s main bedroom.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Here,” Venge answered him, walking out of what Qui-Gon suspected was a kitchenette. He was handed a mug of tea, one of the red blends that Obi-Wan favored.

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said, and realized he hadn’t quite been able to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“It helps,” Venge explained, after sitting down cross-legged on the carpet next to Qui-Gon. He was still nude, and didn’t look to be physically suffering from Fire’s ravages, which was a relief. “To do normal things, familiar things.”

Qui-Gon pressed his lips together against the wide smile that wanted to form. He was not going to take that bait. “I’m glad you called me here,” he said instead.

“And I am very glad you came,” Venge replied. The candles provided just enough light that Qui-Gon could discern the amusement lurking in Venge’s amber eyes. He knew exactly what he was saying, the impish bastard. “However, you seem to be missing some companions.”

“The Padawans are about twelve hours behind me. Anakin was the one who suggested that we should ‘get it out of our system’ before they arrive.”

Venge smiled. “I have a very smart Padawan.”

They sat together in silence that was more or less comfortable. Venge still had the air of a predator, but it was not as intense as it had been in Zan Arbor’s cell, just after Fire had taken hold.

“Come with me,” Venge said, when Qui-Gon had finished the tea. It had a particular burn of spice underneath the faint sweet that Qui-Gon was still trying to puzzle out. “I have plans for you.”

“That may be more than I can handle in one afternoon.” It was a half-hearted protest, at best, especially when his cock was already stirring to announce its own interest.

“I do not think _I_ could handle anything else this afternoon,” Venge returned in a dry voice.

They went up a set of carpeted stairs, and into a bedroom that was lit by more clustered pillar candles set up in each corner. It was nice, if a bit odd. Candles were usually his preference, not Obi-Wan’s.

“Stronger light still hurts my eyes,” Venge explained, when Qui-Gon gave him a questioning look. “From the dioxis.”

Qui-Gon felt a chill that had nothing to do with Venge’s presence. “Before we do…whatever it is that you have in mind—please, let me see?”

Venge held himself still as Qui-Gon rested his hands on both sides of Venge’s face, turning Venge’s head gently towards the light of the closest group of candles. Flecks of blood still marred the whites of Venge’s left eye, and Qui-Gon could feel the slickness of healing skin beneath his fingertips. There was the faintest hint of red remaining on Venge’s skin, outlining where the dioxis had struck.

“I am so glad that you’re all right,” Qui-Gon murmured, pressing his lips against Venge’s reddened cheek. “However, you still owe me for saddling me with a blasted Council seat.”

“No, we are even. You never compensated me for speaking my vows backwards.”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to protest, and then realized that Venge was correct. “Damn, I’d forgotten about that. You win this round.”

“And the next one, too,” Venge agreed, running his hand down Qui-Gon’s chest. It was like being painted by heat—evidence of the limbic overload the Healer twins had reported. He circled Qui-Gon slowly, never taking his hands from Qui-Gon’s body. The touch was not exactly intimate, compared to what they had already done, but the feel of it _lingered._

Venge curled his right hand around the back of Qui-Gon’s neck, his fingers hot against Qui-Gon’s skin. “You are thinking too much,” he murmured, pulling Qui-Gon’s head down until their lips met. The kiss had none of the fierce desperation of their last, shared on a planet lightyears away. This was the slow slide of lips, hints of wet and heat and full of rich contentment.

“Define ‘too much,’” Qui-Gon said, darting in for another quick kiss when Venge pulled back.

Obi-Wan’s sultry smile made a brief appearance. “Lie down on the bed, face down.”

Qui-Gon complied, grateful to find that the bed in question was a wonderful, firm platform, with just enough give to be comfortable. It was also long enough to accommodate the full length of Qui-Gon’s body, with space left over at the foot. The bed sheets were as old as the hotel’s other furnishings, but so many washings meant that the linens were almost as soft and polished as silk.

“We are taking this bed home with us.”

“I do not believe it would fit in that pack of yours.” Venge was moving around the room, collecting something that Qui-Gon could not quite identify in the dim light.

“You keep following me with your eyes,” Venge said. “I am surprised you dealt so well with having me at your back.”

“It isn’t that.” Qui-Gon dropped his head back down to rest on the sheet when he felt the bed dip with Venge’s weight. “You remind me of the great cats of Renndthall.”

“I have never heard of them.” Venge started running his fingers up and down Qui-Gon’s leg.

“The royal line of Renndthall started keeping them in domesticity a few hundred years ago as honored members of the household. They are the large cats of the planet’s lost jungles, the hunters who used the shadows to seek out their prey. They have never attacked a living being who was not already trying to harm one of the royal family, but they are not domesticated,” Qui-Gon explained, lulled by the too-warm strokes of Venge’s hand on his legs. “You are petting me while I’m discussing cats, by the way.”

“Imagine that. Tell me more.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “If you ever meet one, it’s their eyes that reveal the truth of it. They are feral cats, no matter how long they’ve been living in a palace. They know and honor those they love, but there is always the feeling of being studied, of being evaluated by a predator. You can walk down a hall with a Renndthall panther at your back, and while you trust that it won’t kill you, you can’t shake the feeling that it is _capable_ of killing you.”

“I think I’m flattered,” Venge said. “I have a feeling they were great friends of yours.”

Qui-Gon hissed in a startled breath as cool liquid started falling onto his back. Then Venge’s hands were on his skin, spreading around oil that was just beginning to scent the air. It was subtle, reminding Qui-Gon of spice and pine without overpowering his senses.

“We got along very well, yes,” Qui-Gon said, trying not to slur his words as Venge started finding every knot of tension crossing his spine. He hadn’t expected any sort of massage, but he wasn’t fool enough to turn it down. “Mostly because I never asked them to be anything other than what they are.”

“Hmm.” Venge brought his hands up to Qui-Gon’s shoulders. Pressure and heat joined with the slow glide of oil, and stubborn muscles began to relax. “That was not subtle at all. Honest, but not subtle.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “I didn’t think this was the time for subtlety.”

“No. Perhaps it is not,” Venge agreed, and startled Qui-Gon by opening up a small part of their Lifebond. Without a warning, he had no time to prepare for the emotional onslaught…but to his surprise, there wasn’t one. Instead of that stark, burning rage, Qui-Gon felt sullen, angry embers, banked but ready to flare up again at the slightest provocation.

“I didn’t think Fire afforded you that much relief,” Qui-Gon said, closing his eyes and accepting that part of their connection. Anger wasn’t the best sensation, but it was beyond tolerable after weeks of silence and separation.

“Fire does not, no,” Venge said. A container opened and then shut; Venge started massaging Qui-Gon’s left arm with fresh oil coating his hands. “Ra’um-Ve had the idea to try mood stabilizers. Some of them work, to a point, but Fire figures out how to circumvent them quickly. I have perhaps three more doses I can take before this particular stabilizer is completely ineffective.”

Qui-Gon sighed as a tight pain in his arm revealed itself in one moment, and was eased by gentle heat in the next. “But it’s something,” he said. Perhaps this early success would mean that a more effective counter for A Drop of Fire could be found.

“I wanted to be able to spend time with you, not run off and destroy something every few hours just to keep my sanity,” Venge said in a wry voice. He picked up Qui-Gon’s hands, running his fingers down the tendon lines, caressing fingers. “And…I missed you.”

There was something in his voice, a particular nuance that Qui-Gon needed only a moment’s consideration to recognize. “How close was it?” he asked, a dull ache in his chest that had nothing to do with tense muscles. Venge had called for Qui-Gon out of need, yes, but Qui-Gon was also well-versed in Obi-Wan’s stubbornness.

“The dioxis damage was minimal, but the other?” Venge went quiet for a minute, though his hands never ceased the methodical caresses that were wringing tension from Qui-Gon’s body. “Close. It was…very close.”

“Obi-Wan,” he whispered, shaken by the fear that colored Venge’s voice.

“It is also over and done with,” Venge said, switching the Qui-Gon’s right arm. Qui-Gon was hard-pressed to bite back a groan; the old crash damage from Yinchorr had been paining him in the past few days, aggravated from being spaced by Zan Arbor. “No more politics, no Council business. No concerns or fears. Not right now.”

“What is this for, then?” Qui-Gon asked, curious.

Qui-Gon could hear the smile in Venge’s voice. “People often forget that domination and control does not always mean violence. You have no idea how much it pleases me to have you pliant under my hands.”

Qui-Gon released a sigh when old pains were warmed and eased. “You’ve turned me into a boneless lump that has little interest in moving from this spot.”

Venge bent over him and pressed his lips against the back of Qui-Gon’s neck. “Then I will consider my goal to be achieved.”

Despite his words, it seemed Venge was not yet done with Qui-Gon. He chivvied them both out of the bed after the sun went down, taking Qui-Gon to eat dinner at a restaurant with no prices on the menu. He tried not to wince as he ordered what sounded the most appetizing.

“How are we affording this, again?”

“I ran into an old gambling companion of my father’s,” Venge said. He was leaning back in their private booth, leaving his features in shadow, but the darkness did not disguise the self-satisfied smile on Venge’s face. “He and I reminisced over cards.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. He’d seen Cliegg Lars play; there were professionals touring the Sabacc circuit who were rank amateurs in comparison, and his eldest son was almost as talented. “That poor, poor man. Did you leave him destitute?”

“Hardly,” Venge drawled. “But to hear him whine about it, he will be homeless for ever after.”

There must have been a hint of Qui-Gon’s thoughts on his face. “I did not go searching for unwary gamblers to divest of their money, Qui-Gon Jinn,” Venge snapped. “Do try to give me a bit more credit.”

They stared at each other for almost a full minute in silence. “That was an awful pun,” Qui-Gon said at last, unable to prevent his smile.

Venge blinked twice and then leaned forward, a rueful look on his face. “It was, wasn’t it?”

 _Integration,_ Qui-Gon thought. The twins had spoken of it as a possibility, but Qui-Gon was almost certain he was seeing hints of what Ra’um-Ve had reported.

Venge’s instincts regarding the establishment were excellent. The food was superb, enough to make Qui-Gon forget his concerns about cost. Even Obi-Wan, whose appetite had been abysmal since Venge’s necessary resurgence, managed to finish each course.

They were walking back to the _Fading Flower_ when Qui-Gon started to chuckle.

“What?” Venge wanted to know. He was wearing his cloak, but the hood was thrown back, allowing the breeze to ruffle his hair.

“I was just thinking that we do everything backwards,” Qui-Gon said. “We were all but living in each other’s pockets long before I even contemplated a relationship between us, and we jumped straight from that to Lifebonding. There is usually some sort of courtship before that point.”

“If you are saying that Jedi courtships are supposed to be normal affairs, then I must call you a liar. I do not think _any_ Jedi pair has ever had such a thing,” Venge responded. “Unless, of course, you can offer me an example—and Micah and Tahl do not count, because Micah was utterly oblivious for fifty years, and Tahl should have said something much earlier.”

Qui-Gon smiled. He actually couldn’t think of a normal courtship aside from the one Obi-Wan’s parents had managed. “Would you have said something? If I had proceeded to continue to imitate Micah in my obliviousness?”

“Eventually,” Venge said. “But I felt that you would notice on your own, and I was willing to wait.”

Qui-Gon thought about the timing of that year, and what had happened on Naboo just days after he had finally managed to get Obi-Wan into his arms and into his bed. “We almost left it too late,” he murmured. If they had, if there had been no base for the Lifebond to form upon... “What would you have done then?”

“Haunted you,” Venge replied in a dry voice. “Often and mercilessly.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

What struck him, what made Qui-Gon realize he was dreaming, was the silence.

Even in the dead of night, there was always some sound in the Jedi Temple. Ten thousand beings living and working in an enclosed environment generated a low-level thrum that Qui-Gon could sense even when others could not.

There was silence.

Qui-Gon was staring down at the decaying corpse near his foot. He hadn’t exactly chosen to do so, but he’d entered a dream and this was where he found himself—standing in the public receiving area of the Temple, surrounded by death.

He didn’t recognize the body. Thank the Force for small favors.

“You really should not be here,” Venge said.

Qui-Gon looked up, grateful that the spell holding him transfixed seemed to shatter at Venge’s words. He found Venge sitting at the foot of the Grand Stair, his knees drawn up to his chest, his chin resting on his crossed arms.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Qui-Gon said. “You left part of the Lifebond unshielded.”

Venge grimaced. “My apologies. I should have kept our mutual habit of dreamwalking in mind.”

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to look back down. Instead, he carefully picked his way across the room. When he made it to the stairs, he sat next to Venge with a feeling of intense relief.

“At least the climate system was still working,” Venge said. His gaze was fixed on a column that had cracked about three meters up before falling over to shatter the stone floor. “I imagine it would be worse, otherwise.”

Qui-Gon swallowed as several implications became clear. “You came back here.”

Venge nodded. “Before I went to the Industrial Zone. Before Sidious.”

“But two _years_ had passed, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon whispered, horrified.

“No one was allowed inside the Temple by Imperial edict. Nothing inside was touched until the Emperor convinced the Imperial Senate to approve the plans that would turn the Temple into his Imperial Palace.” Venge sighed. “I managed to keep this from the Sharing. I did not want—the initial Purges were bad enough. I did not want our friends, our _family_ , to see our home this way.”

“Why not just wake up?” Qui-Gon asked, unnerved by the unyielding quiet. The fall of their voices in this massive dead space was beyond eerie.

He thought he understood Obi-Wan’s rage a bit better, now.

“As bad as this is, it is only…they are only bodies. It is sad, and it hurts to witness it.” Venge turned his head to face Qui-Gon. This was more Obi-Wan than Sith; his eyes held only faint flickers of amber flame within heartbroken gray depths. “If I am sleeping, and I dream only of this? I consider it to be a relief. There are far worse things lurking in my mind.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Obi-Wan, you don’t have to be here. You do not need to sit in this room, inside this _memory_. No matter what you might believe, these deaths are not your fault.”

“I don’t think that,” Venge whispered.

“Prove it,” Qui-Gon challenged. “Take my hand. Wake up.”

Venge scowled and took Qui-Gon’s hand, a defiant look on his face. “Fine—”

Qui-Gon blinked awake, feeling the dull throb of a headache behind his eyes. Beside him, Venge sat up, arranging arms and legs until he was mirroring the way he’d been sitting on the stairs. “Dammit, Qui-Gon Jinn,” he said in a harsh whisper. “You can never leave well enough alone, can you?”

“There is punishment, and then there is needless self-flagellation,” Qui-Gon replied. He sat up and considered Venge’s body language, the hunched, tense set of his shoulders. An embrace would be rejected, so he settled for tracing the hard ridge of Venge’s spine with his fingertips.

“Is that what you think it is?” Venge shook his head. “Perhaps I am merely reminding myself of the danger we face.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Sidious will never get that chance again. What he once did hasn’t happened now, Obi-Wan. You’re safe— _Anakin_ is safe.”

“Just because the two of us were sent backwards doesn’t mean that our lives were undone,” Venge countered, his voice thick with sudden grief. “It _happened._ I feel every single scar it left upon me, imprints upon my skin and my soul.”

Venge held out his left arm, tracing the lines of script that made up his bonding tattoo. “It may be hidden, but that does not mean I cannot still _feel_ it.” He ran his finger down the shallow indentation along the inside of his arm, wrist to elbow. Underneath shifting blue and green ink was the scar he’d given himself, a last-ditch attempt to escape from Sidious.

Qui-Gon didn’t want to ask the question, but the raw emotion in his mate’s words made it all but necessary. “Do you wish it had not been? That this…had not come to be?”

Venge sucked in a breath. “No. Not that. Not even in those first hours, when I was panicking about it all.” The tone of his voice shifted, and when he spoke next he sounded amused. “Did you know that for a few minutes, I actually considered keeping it all a secret?”

“I didn’t know that.” Qui-Gon considered those first days, faced with a Padawan who’d suddenly had the life experience of a fifty-eight year-old Jedi Master crammed into his young mind. “It wouldn’t have worked,” he said, smiling.

Venge snickered. “No. Utter disaster. I was too unhinged to dissemble properly, and Yoda would have been poking holes in it all, anyway.”

Qui-Gon was glad to feel less tension underneath his hand. “You’ve always had doubts, before, about how real your other life had been, but now you sound certain.”

“I was thinking about types of bonds,” Venge said, which sounded like a non sequitur until he continued, “and there is a truth that I did not quite remember before.”

“Which is?”

Venge turned his head and looked at Qui-Gon. “Anchor points transcend time.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, confused by the mention of the otherworldly thread that connected them. The anchor point’s continued existence still baffled him, considering it had belonged to Qui-Gon’s other self. “I’m not following you.”

“Think about it,” Venge said, his expression morphing into an intense frown. “The Healers classify a Sharing as an experience that others live and feel, but it is really not. When it comes right down to it, participating in a Sharing is far more like watching a vid. You have an emotional response to it, but it is your own emotional response. Since it is an act of witnessing, a Sharing can happen in a very short amount of time. Your brain does not need that long to process auditory and optic input. But: if it is _your_ memories, _your_ emotions—your _experience_? That takes time to download, and still longer to integrate. Integration is key. Your mind needs downtime for that.”

“That’s why you, Anakin, and theoretically, Sidious, were unconscious for so long,” Qui-Gon said. “It wasn’t just the shock of it happening, but the need to integrate new data.”

“A clinical but accurate explanation.” Venge nodded. “The humanoid brain is much like a computer in that way, though unlike a computer there is a certain metaphysical aspect. It was not just blind chance that enabled you to reach my mind in the Ward after Taro Tre. The moment that integration process began, the anchor point bond existed for me…and once it existed for me, it also existed for you.”

Qui-Gon knew there was a disbelieving look on his face. “You’re saying that the only reason I don’t remember things the way you and Anakin do is because I haven’t spent a prolonged amount of time unconscious.”

“Recollection facilitated by the anchor point, yes.” Venge smiled, somehow appearing sardonic and wry at the same time. “It is why you dream of fragments of memory from that time. However, I am in no hurry to see you comatose to test the theory.”

“It’s—I grant you that it makes a lot of sense,” Qui-Gon admitted. “It’s just hard to wrap my mind around the concept.”

“Considering it hinges on the acceptance of a bond that should not exist that already exists even though it never existed?” Venge shrugged. “Hells, Qui-Gon. The only reason I could manipulate the anchor point enough to bring it to your attention on Yinchorr is because I had already _died_ once before. If you want theories that are less complicated, you married the wrong man.”

Qui-Gon put his arms around Venge’s shoulders and drew his mate close against his chest. “No,” he whispered, once Venge had more or less willingly relaxed against him. “No, I did not.”


End file.
